


Quietus

by GloriaMundi



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Backstory, Community: au_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't Cobb who married Mal.<br/>(For the prompt "Personal life of a character changed")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quietus

Even through the jetlag Eames can tell that something's very wrong. He lounges in his chair in the chilly, bright printshop they've rented, and watches the others as they talk through the job; Saito's money, Fischer's father, Cobb's ambition to be the first to achieve inception.

(Eames tried it, a while back. His team was the best, but the idea didn't take: they didn't strip it down enough.)

Cobb's called him in as forger, but frankly he'll have his hands full with this job: Arthur's not pulling his weight, and Cobb doesn't have the nous to run point. Being Cobb, he's getting belligerent, which has the effect of irritating Mal and driving Arthur further into his own thoughts. He's like a two-dimensional version of himself, barely speaking, contributing nothing. Eames hates to see him like this. He wouldn't have taken up Cobb's invitation if he'd known Arthur was such a mess.

This is the first job he's worked with Arthur since he and Mal got married. Maybe that's the problem, or part of it. Or perhaps he's just projecting.

"Mal," he says when he corners her in the tiny kitchen of the printshop, "may I ask what the hell's going on between you and Arthur?"

Mal looks away, looks down, shakes her head: there's a tear glistening in the corner of her eye, but Eames happens to know she can cry on demand.

"I ... have you spoken to him?" she says.

"No," admits Eames. She's changing the subject, but it's only fair to give her what she wants: the assurance that Arthur's keeping himself to himself. There's always been a streak of jealousy in Mal, never mind that Eames has never given her any cause for it. Unless she can read his mind, there's no reason for her to believe there's anything other than friendship between himself and her husband.

"Later," Mal promises, as Cobb looms in the doorway. "Later, mon cher; we'll have a drink, hmm? And catch up."

The brush of her lips against his cheek feels like acid.

"What the hell was that about?" asks Cobb, staring after Mal.

"I was enquiring after Arthur," says Eames equably, pouring himself a cup of coffee. (Cobb can bloody well pour his own.) "D'you know what's going on there?"

"They went too deep," says Cobb, dragging his fingers through his hair. "I warned them -- so did Miles -- but you know Mal. She always knows best."

"What d'you mean, too deep?"

"A dream within a dream, right? It ... stretches. Time in the second layer's much longer than in the first."

"Mmm," agrees Eames.

"Well, they went down further."

"Further? How many --"

"Dom? Mr Eames?" It's Mal again, staring at Cobb and then at Eames. "We're ready to continue, gentlemen."

Eames resigns himself to extracting the truth, one morsel at a time, from Mal. He watches her for the rest of the afternoon while she and Cobb are hashing out the details of the job. Arthur, poor sod, is participating a little more than before, but there are dark circles under his eyes, and when he speaks -- which is rare -- it's barely louder than whispering.

Eames manages to catch up with Arthur as he's heading out of the door. Mal's left already: "You're driving me mad, all of you; I need a cigarette." Cobb's disappeared into the bathroom, with his phone. (Eames seriously doesn't want to know.) Arthur's stride falters as Eames steps in front of him, a hand on his arm.

"Arthur," says Eames. He feels Arthur tense at his touch. "Arthur, what the fuck is going on?"

"Didnt Mal tell you?" says Arthur, with a flash of his old sharpness. "We went too deep. We went to limbo, Mal and me."

"Limbo?" Eames has heard of it: news travels fast in the small incestuous world of illegal dreamshare, and for a while everyone was talking about Nash, and how he'd dreamt too deep and never woken from it. A dream within a dream is one thing; the more layers there are, the further the dreamer sinks from reality, and the more dangerous it becomes. "You got out, though," he says to Arthur.

"We forgot it wasn't real," says Arthur dully. "It was better, down there. Just the two of us. Years, Eames. We were there for years."

"But you did get out," repeats Eames, as patiently as he can manage.

"Mal thought it was real," says Arthur. "She would've stayed down there until she -- until her body died."

"You convinced her --"

"I _didn't_!" yells Arthur, and the abruptness of his anger is shocking and wrong. "I _didn't_ convince her! She wouldn't listen to me!"

"I don't understand," says Eames, lifting his hands slightly in a gesture he hopes will calm Arthur. He doesn't like the wideness of Arthur's eyes or the rictus of his jaw. "You came back. Both of you came back."

"She," begins Arthur. he shakes his head, tries a different tack. "I --"

There's a sudden blast of cold, smoky air. "What my husband means," comes Mal's voice, icy and rough, "is that he murdered me. I didn't believe him. He took a knife, and he killed me." She exchanges a slow, unreadable glance with Arthur. "We woke up together."

For an instant, Eames is ready to murder Mal himself. The pain in Arthur's expression evokes an echoing ache somewhere in his chest.

"I am glad of it," says Mal, more gently. "Grateful. He saved me when I didn't know I needed to be saved."

"And have you forgiven him?" demands Eames.

"There is nothing to forgive," says Mal. Her eyes are shiny with tears.

Arthur's been staring at her as though she's about to vanish out of the world. Now he turns his dark, despairing gaze on Eames.

"The problem," he says huskily, and swallows. "The problem is, I don't know how to forgive myself."

-end-


End file.
